walking under ladders // texas & tune.
Jun 27, 2022 17:07:37 GMT -5
Post by ✨ zozo. on Jun 27, 2022 17:07:37 GMT -5
"I'm checking the perimeter," she announces to Carly and Andrew, already growing itchy with boredom. Her pack is stuffed full of supplies and the handle of her weapon - now switched to the lighter, more appropriate saber - rests sturdy in her palm. Truth is she thinks if she has to be stuck inside any longer with Andrew Priest she might kill him herself - or worse.
Though Tune's prone to take risks, she really didn't feel like dealing with consequences of that potential reality. Not this early in the game, anyway.
Plus she wasn't about to cost herself a good ally in the process. Andrew might be aloof, but he's got the brawn to back up herself and Carly. She's still shaken from this morning, her wounds stitched up yet no less painful than they were on creation - dead boy's head rolling, rolling, rolling. Air - she needs air.
"I'll yell if I see anyone - 'kay?"
She doesn't wait for a response.
One quick leap from a tabletop and she's through the window Andrew had smashed in, feet landing swiftly on the ground. Tune's never seen so much green in her life - accustomed to the permanently dreary palette of Twelve: grey, brown, a sprinkle of yellowed grass in overgrown springtime meadows if you were lucky. The air is heavy, but fresh. No smoke, fumes, taint from mining truck gasoline. Breathe in, out - she closes her eyes, just for a moment, allowing herself this small pleasure.
And then it is over, the gravity of where she is resting softlyon her shoulders. Tune opens her eyes, grits her teeth, and sets off around the building with a frown and quiet, cautious steps.
"There's no scraps left," she says aloud to nobody in particular, acutely aware of the potential for stragglers to be hiding around corners or beneath trap doors. "And I ain't afraid of stabbing a bitch!"
It sounded much braver in her head than it does out loud. Quieter, muttering - "I've done it twice already today."
Though Tune's prone to take risks, she really didn't feel like dealing with consequences of that potential reality. Not this early in the game, anyway.
Plus she wasn't about to cost herself a good ally in the process. Andrew might be aloof, but he's got the brawn to back up herself and Carly. She's still shaken from this morning, her wounds stitched up yet no less painful than they were on creation - dead boy's head rolling, rolling, rolling. Air - she needs air.
"I'll yell if I see anyone - 'kay?"
She doesn't wait for a response.
One quick leap from a tabletop and she's through the window Andrew had smashed in, feet landing swiftly on the ground. Tune's never seen so much green in her life - accustomed to the permanently dreary palette of Twelve: grey, brown, a sprinkle of yellowed grass in overgrown springtime meadows if you were lucky. The air is heavy, but fresh. No smoke, fumes, taint from mining truck gasoline. Breathe in, out - she closes her eyes, just for a moment, allowing herself this small pleasure.
And then it is over, the gravity of where she is resting softlyon her shoulders. Tune opens her eyes, grits her teeth, and sets off around the building with a frown and quiet, cautious steps.
"There's no scraps left," she says aloud to nobody in particular, acutely aware of the potential for stragglers to be hiding around corners or beneath trap doors. "And I ain't afraid of stabbing a bitch!"
It sounded much braver in her head than it does out loud. Quieter, muttering - "I've done it twice already today."
table by griffin
